


Notice

by MortyVongola



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, I'm Sorry, Reader-Insert, its really short, its romance if you squint, kind of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 20:23:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6921949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MortyVongola/pseuds/MortyVongola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He noticed you. Watching while you remained blissfully unaware. He had no idea why he noticed you, but he did, and he wished he could hate you for it.</p>
<p>Reader x Sherlock (maybe if you squinted...)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Notice

**Author's Note:**

> I began writing this after the second episode of season 3 came out...buuuuuuut I stopped writing it after a while... It's short like all of my stories. (sigh) I'm sorry if Sherlock is OOC! Forgive me!!!
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own BBC's Sherlock, or you for that matter.

He noticed you. Watching while you remained blissfully unaware. He had no idea why he noticed you, but he did, and he wished he could hate you for it. Everyday you'd go to the cafe under and to the left of his flat. He watched you walk into the store, and come out with a coffee, he knew it was coffee, and sometimes something light to eat, but you didn't get food often. And he continued to observe you as you sat down at a table outside. You always sat at the table closest to his flat. You often read a book or magazine as you sat with your coffee. When you first began this 'routine' he thought you were sent to watch him. But after leaving his flat one afternoon and actually taking a good look at you, he knew with absolute certainty that you were just as normal as everyone else. But he often found himself wondering just why you always came to Baker street for lunch. He knew that your work and home were not near here. He knew that you didn't come to meet someone. And one day, while playing his violin, he realized that he found you to be somewhat of a nuisance.

You distracted him. He always noticed when you arrived and when you departed and it bothered him. A lot. And finally he decided to confront you. He was rather irate that day. His brother had decided to visit and John was off doing who knows or cares what no doubt-ably with Mary to accompany him. His irritation is what drove him to storm down the steps of his flat and out the front door. It was also, most likely, said irritation that caused him to slam his hands on your little table, which in turn frightened you to some extent.

He paid your wide eyes and small tremble no mind as he asked the only question he could think of at the time, "Why?" You, not knowing who he was or why he had just interrupted your normally calm lunch break could only stumble around your words as you tried to respond to this random man. "W-Why what?"

Sherlock managed to compose himself a bit and stood up straight. He rolled his eyes at your dimwitted question, as if you would know what went on in his head (no one does, frankly.) and sighed as if it was labor intensive to answer your absolutely normal and reasonable question. "Why do you come here everyday and sit there. All you do is drink your coffee, you rarely eat, but you manage this everyday practically. Why?"

You blushed and struggled for a proper explanation but you were also quite confused, so you simply asked, "How do you know that?"

"Because I watch you. And whether I like it or not I notice you. Unfortunately, you've become a distraction, and I don't need a distraction, so I want to know why, so that you aren't one anymore." Sherlock stated flatly.

"Y-You watch me?"

"Just answer my question." Shaking your head a bit to recompose yourself, and then came your answer, "I come here to listen to the violin player. They're quite good, you see, and it relaxes me while I'm on my lunch break. I can almost always hear them." Sherlock felt the urge to blush, only an urge, but he was a bit flattered. He fixed his jacket coat before saying goodbye and he departed. Which left you in a state of confusion as to who he was and the like. Once he got back in his flat he glanced out the window to see you still sitting there, bemused and staring at the door to the 221 flats. That was all he needed before he began to play the violin once more.


End file.
